Concord Quarterly News
Editor’s note: Our Joint Concord/Western Quarterly Meeting on July 19 will be visited by the challenging presence of John Woolman.
Visit to John Woolman Memorial in Mt Holly NJ
Charles Bruder of Westfield Meeting takes his friend, John Woolman, with him wherever he goes. Woolman once lived in Mt Holly, NJ and was instrumental in turning 18th Century Friends away from the evils of slavery. Charles knows Woolman well. He’s been the Director of the John Woolman Memorial on Branch Street in Mt Holly for the past 8 years and has served on its Board for 16 years. He lives attached to Woolman’s old house. The house had suffered decades as part of a barn in another part of town and was near demolition until the Memorial members purchased it in 1923 and had it moved onto the Memorial property. You might say that Bruder belongs next to the old Woolman haunts as he has spent a good part of his life researching the man who he takes with him to his presentations.
Chris Stern, Clem Gerdlemann, and I, visited the Memorial on Juneteenth this year, a fitting way to celebrate this new national holiday. There we found a gentle and knowledgeable Bruder, who was more than happy to take us on a tour of the property and talk about Woolman’s life. The Memorial sits on one and a half bucolic looking acres in the town shielded from extensive development by many trees. The property is classified as an arboretum with one hundred trees representing thirty seven species. It is an inviting space to amble around and relax in. Charles is always available to chat about its history and he welcomes visitors.
The John Woolman Memorial Association was founded in 1915 by a local Quaker historian Amelia Mott Gummere and other Friends. Mott had been researching Woolman at the Swarthmore Archives and felt that a place commemorating his life was past due. The group purchased the Mount Holly property and the Memorial opened to the public in 1916, drawing attendance in the first year of more than 600 people. The local lore is the house was the home Woolman built for his daughter Mary in 1771, a fact supported by a Woolman notebook where he described the house parameters in great detail. The New Jersey Historic Trust, however, describes the main house was constructed for Jabez Woolston in 1783. Bruder disputes that stating that the Woolman description is too exact to claim otherwise.
Over time, the property became more than a house museum. During World War I it offered a quiet meeting place for soldiers from nearby Camp Dix and their families; in the late 1930s and early 1940s it sheltered or assisted refugees and exiles; and it continued to host lectures, meetings, retreats, and educational visits. The site was designated a Mount Holly Historic Landmark in 1994 and was included in the New Jersey Register of Historic Places in 2018.
Charles came to be interested in Woolman as he worked his way through the Harvard Classics which included Woolman’s Journal. Shortly after encountering the Journal, some Quakers started bringing old books from the Burlington Library wanting to sell them at his rare books bookshop. He took up an acquaintance with them and found they were members of Westfield Meeting which he started to attend. He is now a member there. He has been on the board of the Memorial Association for 16 years and the Director of the Memorial for the past 8 years.
To say he has become an aficionado of Woolman’s life and writings is an understatement. We saw Charles’ deep commitment to Woolman in the first few minutes of his tour. That tour is peppered with not just a description of Woolman’s life, but many quotes from the Journal and numerous anecdotes that showed Woolman’s faithful devotion to enslaved and indigenous people, and caring for the working poor, and even beasts of burden. Just one example; Woolman on his last trip to England took passage not in the more comfortable accommodation on top, but rather in steerage to show his solidarity for the crew and travelers of more modest means.
Charles points out that Woolman used to be very popular in New Jersey and his writings were required readings in local high schools as well as needed to pass the state teachers’ exam. However giving tours these days can be a bit disheartening as many modern students know nothing of Woolman and usually do not even know what an “abolitionist” is.
Charles’ home is on the memorial grounds. He gives tours by appointment but he also will talk with people who just happen to drop by. His favorite activity is taking on Woolman’s persona and presenting the man’s life through his sayings and experiences. He has been sought after by Quaker groups, historical associations and schools. He has five different presentations that cover all aspects of Woolman’s extraordinary life. Visit the website: https://woolmanmemorial.org
The Beautiful Soul of John Woolman – A Review
Thomas Slaughter ends his penetrating biography of John Woolman with a tattered note found in Woolman’s purse on that fateful journey to England in 1772. It is a passage from the Apostle Paul’s Epistle to the Romans (Romans 6:13): “Neither yield you your members as instruments of unrighteousness and sin, but yield yourselves unto God as those that are alive from His deed and your members as instruments of righteousness unto God.” No verse encapsulates Woolman’s life more. Slaughter’s “The Beautiful Soul of John Woolman, Apostle of Abolition” is an attempt to show how deeply Woolman followed this path, to be a constant example of a follower of God’s leadings.
Slaughter succeeds in giving us a view into Woolman’s inner life, a spiritual self which this 18th century Quaker self-consciously hid to the outside world. Using not only “The Journal” but also essays and notes which Woolman produced in his lifetime, as well as anecdotes from friends and foes, the author artfully pieces together many fragments to describe an interior life that frankly could only be said to be that of a truly anointed person. The irony of Woolman and his writings was the complete lack of self-celebration, neatly illuminated by Slaughter when he juxtaposes Woolman’s writings with the autobiographies of more materialistically minded writers. Benjamin Franklin and Jean-Jacques Rousseau wrote about their personal triumphs, steeped in self-esteem. John Woolman never highlights his self in his battles. Rather every word written relates to his failure or success in living out the dictates of the Lord.
Slaughter describes in great detail the life events of this famous abolitionist who in his 52 years was so persuasive in changing Quaker attitudes to enslaved and indigenous peoples. But Slaughter’s 464 pages and 15 chapters will take the reader on a journey that provides a credible view of Woolman at his best and sometimes at his less frequent worst. Along the way you will get a good dose of Quaker history and involvement in the slave trade, a substantial look at local living conditions in America and England and a heavy dose of radical economics. I felt blessed upon finishing the book, having been allowed to draw much closer to one whom many feel was and is a Quaker saint.
Finding Quakerism
I was raised in the Nazarene church, one of the most conservative churches in the nation. I abandoned religion in my later teenage years. An authoritarian, all-knowing, all-powerful, and all-loving God adjudicating strict moral binaries no longer fit with my desire for a completely unfettered life. Also the logical facts just did not add up. If God had those qualities why is there so much suffering in the world? Despite my concerns, I could not forget the powerful and meaningful experiences I had when worshiping with others in song or during Bible study discussions.
After learning the practice of meditation in college, I spent much of my 20s and 30s sitting in Zen communities. While I deeply value what this practice continues to teach me, I found myself interpreting my experiences on the zafu (the cushion we sit on while doing Zazen) through what I had learned in the Bible and experienced in worship as a child.
I first learned about Quakers in Memphis. Our Zen community shared space with a Quaker meeting house, and while studying social work at the University of Memphis, it was inevitable that our lessons on social activism would highlight the lives of Bayard Rustin, Alice Paul, and the like.
My understanding of what it means to be a Quaker is shaped by all of my life experiences. It provides a space to sit quietly in the presence of God, not interpreted as some authoritarian being, but as an ineffable, ever-moving, revelation we all share communally. Like the group of blind people describing an elephant, we may only gain glimpses of whatever it is, but communally, through our presence and attention with the Light, the picture becomes ever clearer.
Sitting in Meeting is an opportunity for us to not only gain deeper understanding of the Light through introspection, but also through others’ expressions, whether in spoken word, song, or dance, a common message can be realized. The inexplicable revelations from our own mouths or actions that before were only vague thoughts and memories are shaped into a revealing truth and at times become an unexpected gift even to the person compelled to speak. In these moments we gain a deeper understanding of how the Light moves, works, or is manifested in our lives, communities, and larger society. The emphasis here, as demonstrated by our Quaker predecessors, is not merely on silent contemplation, but on how that which arises in silence informs our activity in the world, a recognition that the boundaries of the meeting are porous, extending far beyond the four walls of our meeting house.
For me, attending quarterly meetings not only allows my family to visit a new area and develop relationships with those outside our monthly meeting, it also offers an alternative space for us to further understand the Light and how it moves. While our monthly meeting is vital for developing impactful and meaningful insights with those who are more familiar, quarterly meetings expands our potential for understanding through the messages from those are less familiar. Not to mention the delicious food each meeting house offers! My kids enjoy spending time with friends they do not see often, while Molly, my wife, loves meeting new people, seeing the unique meeting houses, and participating in all the education programs.
Three Memorials
There’s an old saying that bad things come in threes. During a two week period in May, this seemed true as my husband and I attended three memorial/funeral services for three different men that one or both of us knew well. Two men were fellow college classmates. The third gentleman joined our monthly meeting for Sunday worship. These individuals had different beliefs and spiritual practices. What was a revelation was how each person’s beliefs “shined” through differently at their memorial services.
We met Lee in college. He and my husband worked at the campus radio station: dated nursing students; became best friends for over seventy years. Lee was Best Man at our wedding as my husband was for him. Although raised a Catholic, Lee converted to his wife’s Jewish faith before they married. His last years were in declining health. My husband would visit him in his Massachusetts home. When he died in February, his family followed their Jewish traditions of cremation and burial within twenty-four hours, with a family only graveside service. His memorial service for friends and business associates was scheduled for May.
Rick was also a college friend. He was the only son from an Italian, Catholic family living in Connecticut. He decided to become a priest and entered the seminary following graduation to begin studies. When we married, Rick participated in our wedding Mass. Over the last few years, he had issues with his back requiring surgery in May. The procedure was successful but two days later Rick died while recuperating at home. The week following Lee’s memorial, we returned to Connecticut for Rick’s funeral.
Dick was a birthright Quaker living in the small Pennsylvania town of Millville for most of his ninety-eight years. When he began to need personal care, his daughter moved him to the Anna Jeanes home in West Chester. The Jeanes building is directly behind West Chester meeting house. Dick joined us each Sunday for Worship along with his daughter and her family. With his trademark “wink and wave” and stories of his life on the farm, Dick became a much-loved community member until his death. The day after Rick’s funeral, we drove out to Millville for Dick’s memorial service.
My thoughts on memorial services were ones of a gathering of close family and friends to celebrate and honor the person who died. All three of these men led long, varied, and distinguished lives. They were caring people who loved their families or the parishioners they served. We, and all their friends, were looking forward to being together and sharing their stories. This is not what happened.
Lee’s memorial was held at a restaurant. A lovely buffet was served. There were beautiful picture boards depicting his life, and mementos on each table of his work, hobbies, volunteer activities. However, no one stepped up to direct the “sharing”. People visited among themselves, or with Lee’s wife and daughters. The evening ended with all the richness and funny quirks of the man left unsaid. Lee’s humanity was silent. Many friends were unable to say what Lee meant to them. We don’t know if his family realized they might invite folks to speak, or whether attendees should have just rose and shared. Or maybe, the evening is exactly what his family envisioned. The result was the man we knew and loved never got to shine.
Rick’s funeral had all the pomp and ritual one would expect for a long-serving priest. A Catholic funeral Mass being led by a bishop with twelve fellow priests on the altar, a soloist, organ, and incense is a formidable rite. All the priests had served with Rick during different times in his ministry and were friends. One shared some of his times with Rick during the Mass. It was very regal, and in the manner of the spiritual life Rick had chosen; the vows he had taken; the integrity to which he lived them. But like Lee, Rick, the man, the funny sometimes irreverent poker player, and great listener, was missing. Many of his friends from college and before made the trip to Connecticut to hold that up. We wanted to say how we loved the man not just the priest. We left for home with stories unsaid.
When we approached the small meetinghouse in Millville for Dick’s memorial meeting, we realized all the stories and descriptions of his home that Dick had told us during Social Hour were true. Here was the quiet, rural countryside with the meeting house nestled between the hills. The cemetery rose behind it. The scenery was of farms. The man who spoke his plain, effective vocal ministry did so because that is where he came from, and that is what he was. Dick’s memorial service was the one we kept expecting for all three men, steeped in beauty and simplicity. Many of his neighbors, and long-time friends were present. They gave wonderful recollections of his life as a younger man. Members of his family stood and spoke of life with Dick. The meeting house was very quiet, and the pace unscripted and unhurried. We could feel Dick’s presence as he was truly celebrated for his long and generous life. It was a beautiful morning.
That these remembrances ended up being so different was not a surprise. Each religious faith has its own “flavor”, with its own spiritual pathway. The honoring of the person’s effort to be true to that pathway during their life is what should be celebrated at the end of that life. All these men’s memories deserved that honor.
Signs Of Fascism A National Silent Witness
It is now clear – fascism has arrived in The United States of America. We no longer must wonder if it will arrive. In States rural, urban and suburban across the Country - It is here. Fascism includes ultranationalism, manipulation of the truth, erosion of democratic institutions, a cult of personality, and of course – scapegoating of specific groups as the source of all of society’s problems. International war correspondent and author Chris Hedges says we are now a “corporate run post truth society”.
While Hedges is absolute – he is in no way alone in his analysis. Tim Snyder author of many books including “On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons From the Twenty First Century” says the Signs are all there. Snyder is joined in his thinking by Anne Applebaum, Heather Cox Richardson and other well-established historians who say fascism has arrived.
One need not have the sophistication of those authors to be clear. Prisons have been built, militias have been turned against citizens, due process laws of the constitution are being violated, and violence itself is now glorified on the White House lawn. In April of 2026 the United States Department of Justice encouraged faster killings of prisoners – more lethal injections, more firing squads, and less due process. The “bottom line” of fascism is – some people just are not worthy. They don’t deserve life.
When Trump was elected a second time it was immediately clear to me that many would die. The only question in my mind was how many and when would we stop it. Bombs on Iranian school children? Fishing boats blown up in the Atlantic? Families ripped apart with no process of law. Endless examples of callous disregard for human life? None of this surprised me once Trump took office.
As horrific as the past year and a half has been – this ends immediately with a consolidated, nonviolent-mass mobilization. Should that occur –this ends now. The illusion is that there is “nothing to do” and “small acts don’t matter”. Small acts are precisely what matters.
“Signs of Fascism” is a spiritual educative act of witness that is occurring all over the Country and you can join one. They are peaceful. They are communal. They are not “demonstrations” or attempts to “convince”. They are not “assertive” nor are they “passive”. They are human statements of “we see”. We see the “Signs of Fascism”. We are here.
“Signs of Fascism” is a Witness “event” – a relatively small group of 10 – 15 people all dressed in black walking silently, solemnly, and without words, holding black placard signs each has one of the “signs” of fascism written on it. People walk alone in a line, not side by side, not speaking or shouting, peacefully, with a spiritual focus. Walkers do not engage with bystanders whether there is thank you or disgruntlement.
Recently I read Professor Dan Stone’s 2023 release “An Unfinished Story” on the European Holocaust. Stone’s writing is fabulous and his historical analysis is rich and detailed. The “Unfinished Story” is not the story of Nazism or what Hitler did. It is the story of what regular humans, good people, in surrounding areas, and countries did not do. A quiet innocent passivity is what Stone asserts allowed it to happen.
Those with interest in learning more or initiating their own “Signs of Fascism Silent Witness” can reach out to the author of this essay. kenbrick@verizon.net
Putting One Foot in Front of the Other
My son Ben calls when he walks the dogs. Somedays, the calls are relatively short check-ins; other days, we fall into stride on weightier topics. This morning, we fell into a conversation about religion and politics both being attempts to structure how we live with one another in society. Religion, I posited, created a framework that appeals to our better instincts - love, generosity, fairness - while political government was born of the reality that we are not all or always led by these instincts and as a result need external strictures to constrain our self-interest and desire for power.
We landed on this topic because I have been thinking about the role of churches in responding to the intentionally cruel and divisive policies of the current federal government. I spent a week in the fall and another this spring walking with the We Are America March between Philadelphia and Washington DC. Along the route, we ate and slept primarily in churches: Lutheran, Unitarian, Methodist, non-denominational, Mennonite... Each church community that welcomed us, it seemed, proclaimed their beliefs on banners that adorned their buildings. Their ministers spoke openly and eloquently about their congregation’s imperative to build community and to support programs which welcomed the stranger and protected the marginalized. I was moved by the clarity and certainty with which they named and engaged in public witness to their faith.
One of my favorite topics to discuss with students when I worked at Westtown School was Quaker Testimony. It was an easy entry point for discussing George Fox’s antipathy for hypocrisy and the emphasis in Quakerism, from its inception, on living our lives in witness to our shared beliefs. For decades, teaching was witness to my faith, though it left little time to live my beliefs in other contexts. Retirement granted me the time to act just as there was an onslaught of need created by government policies that stand in direct contradiction to the beliefs of Friends. Until recently, I assumed that social and political activism were defined by courage, creativity, and a willingness to sacrifice in order to take bold actions that bring about change. It needed to be big, and I was small. How could my personal testimony change anything in the face of so much malevolence?
Walking to Washington taught me that there is extraordinary power in small actions – literally putting one foot in front of another and then doing it again. And again. When you are walking, you need to be present and attentive to your surroundings, including the people in your immediate community. As a teacher, I knew instinctively that my students needed to feel seen and valued, but I had not understood the significance this has for adults as well. Meeting and listening to people along the march reinforced for me the power of being in community, the necessity of building community, and the hopefulness of taking communal action.
In the nine months since I returned from the first march, I have been able to translate this into other contexts. Newly grounded in the belief that the daily acts of building and protecting community are acts of resistance, I have gotten involved in a visibility brigade that practices peaceful, public dissent by hanging massive protest banners over the highway and waving to the passersby. The joy of this work is watching the faces of drivers as it dawns on them that someone else shares their concerns. We are building community.
In January my community expanded when I joined a Rapid Response group trying to protect our immigrant neighbors from I.C.E.’s current, brutal tactics. My first assignments required only that I be present and be attentive at the courthouse. None of us are imposing, but our collective witness is a deterrent to violence and a visible message to immigrants that we support them. We are persistently folding more people into this and other networks, developing knowledge and trust across communities.
Occasionally, I look too far afield and am overwhelmed by the state of our world, the cruelty of our government. This is when I need to sit myself in the palm of God’s hand, quiet and still, to catch my breath. I cannot right the injustices of this government, but I can nurture connection and understanding. I am, in small increments, helping to build communities that educate and empower one another to improve their own lives together.